


Spring Flowers

by itsokayournot



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: A Midsummer Night's Dream - Freeform, Class Assignment, F/M, I don't really know - Freeform, M/M, Mutual Pining, Not really sure, Watford Eighth Year, aka he knows he's bi, au... sorta??, cupid flower, magic flower, simon knows
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-19
Updated: 2018-05-24
Packaged: 2019-05-08 20:11:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14701320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsokayournot/pseuds/itsokayournot
Summary: "Back in sixth year, while Penny, Agatha, and I were searching for the six white hares, we had found a patch of flowers deep in the Wavering Wood. They were unlike any flowers I had ever seen before. They looked like daisies, but the petals were a deep purple. The kind that kings would use in a thick cape back in the middle ages. And the pistil was such a bright yellow I could hardly believe that it wasn’t painted. There were spots of pollen sprinkled on the petals. Closer towards the center--and slowly growing less and less as it got closer to the tips. It made the flower look like a piece of stardust."





	1. The Assignment

**Author's Note:**

> I came up with this fic idea while we were reading "A Midsummer Night's Dream" in English class and honestly? Worth.
> 
> I want to give a huge shout out to jjcofeesa (also known as infinityonhighvevo on tumblr) for beta-ing this fic!! You helped so much and I cannot thank you enough. Thank you!

**SIMON**

I knew what I was going to do for the assignment as soon as Ms. Possibelf announced it. (Which is new, because usually I wait until the very last moment to do any assignment.) (They’re just always so  _ pointless.  _ My magic doesn’t improve, and I never learn anything new, so why would I do them?)

But when Ms. Possibelf said we had to come up with  _ any  _ sort of magic that had to do with love? New or old? I knew exactly what I was going to use. 

Back in sixth year, while Penny, Agatha, and I were searching for the six white hares, we had found a patch of flowers deep in the Wavering Wood. (The earth hare was  _ awful _ to try and catch.) They were unlike any flowers I had ever seen before. They looked like daisies, but the petals were a deep purple. The kind that kings would use in a thick cape back in the middle ages. And the pistil was such a bright yellow I could hardly believe that it wasn’t painted. There were spots of pollen sprinkled on the petals. Closer towards the center--and slowly growing less and less as it got closer to the tips. It made the flower look like a piece of stardust.

They were  _ so  _ beautiful.

I remember being immediately drawn in. As if they could whisper me all the secrets I wanted to know. They could give me what I wanted most--even though I didn’t know what that was yet.

I don’t remember what it was that I wanted.

It wasn’t until I’d picked one that Penny spoke.

“Be careful with that, Simon.” She had been tracing the bark of an old oak nearby, trying to see if there were any markings in it.  
I didn’t even turn to look at her; I was too entranced by the flower in my hand. “Why?”

Agatha responded that time: “Because that’s the most powerful piece of nature magic known to mages.”

I looked at her. “Really? What does it do?”

Penny opened her mouth to speak, but Agatha beat her to it, her voice quiet. “They make someone fall in love with the first living thing they see.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad.”

Penny shook her head. “No, Simon. Those flowers don’t just make a person fall in love with the first  _ person  _ they see; they make a person fall in love with the first  _ anything  _ they see.”

“And no one wants to be controlled like that,” Agatha said.

I looked back at the flower. It was still breathtaking. There was no way that this iridescent little thing could be evil. Nothing this beautiful could ever be that sinister, I remember thinking. (That’s not true, though. After all,  _ Baz  _ is evil. Even if he is absolutely perfect in every other department.)

We had to leave after that (worseger attack), and I’d dropped the flower in the rush. I always regretted that--I don’t think I ever would have used it, but it was truly majestic, and I wouldn’t have minded keeping it--even if the only reason was just to be able to look at it.)

As soon as Ms. Possibelf dismisses the class, I practically run to the library. Penny finds me an hour later with my nose shoved in a book dedicated to the flowers. (I had to use  **Fine-tooth comb, “powerful nature magic** .”)

It turns out, a mage that was obsessed with Shakespeare back in the seventeenth century decided to create a magickal artefact based on the cupid flower in Shakespeare’s play, “A Midsummer Night’s Dream.” In the play, if the juice from the petals of the flower are placed over the eyelids of someone sleeping, then, when they wake, they’ll fall instantly in love with the first thing they see. 

Except, the mage who cast the spell must have been super powerful, because when he cast on just one flower, all of the flowers of that species took on magical properties. And then they just kept growing, and haven’t stopped in the past four hundred years.

The book won’t even say what the spell the mage used was. It’s too dangerous.

I’m explaining all of this to Penelope when Baz walks in.

He makes eye contact and sneers at me as he strides past our table. A low growl escapes my throat, even as I feel my cheeks warm.

“Simon,” Penny says. A warning.

I nod a little. She’s right--I shouldn’t keep doing that. Shouldn’t keep trying to initiate something. Even if it is just a fight. Even if it doesn’t mean anything. Because it  _ does  _ mean something. At least, it would to me.

I turn my head back towards the book.

“I don’t know if this is the best idea.”

I glance up at her. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, what if someone-” her eyes cut to Baz, now across the library, propping open his own book, “-found out that you had it. Don’t you think they’d use it against you?”

I frown. I hadn’t thought of that.

“You’d just have to be really careful, Si.”

“I know, Pen.”

She squints her eyes, like she’s examining me, but then smiles. “Did you know that some mages think Shakespeare himself made the flower?”

“Do you already know everything about this? I just spent the past five minutes explaining it all to you!”

Penny smiles again and pats my arm patronizingly. “And you did very well.”

My frown turns to a smile as soon as I meet her eyes. She always knows how to cheer me up.

“C’mon,” Penny says. “Let’s go get some dinner.”

 

**BAZ**

I fucking hate this assignment.

Love. Who the fuck wants to think about that? It makes it worse that Snow is here, in the library. I think he’s actually doing research. Which he never does. Which can only mean that this assignment is important to him. 

He’s probably trying to get back with Wellbelove again.

I hate this assignment. Fuck if I’m not going to get a good grade on it though. 

And I know exactly how.         


	2. Background

**SIMON**

In the mess hall, Penny tells me what she’s going to do for the assignment.

“I’m going to create a spell that allows you to contact the one you love at any time.”

“And how are you going to manage to do that?”

She shrugs. “Don’t know yet. Reckon I’ll have to figure it out.”

I laugh just as Agatha sets her plate down next to mine. “What are we talking about?” she asks.

Penny’s still smiling. “The assignment from Magic Words.”

I think Agatha’s eyes might get stuck behind her head, judging by how much she just rolled them. She groans. “That assignment is  _ so  _ stupid.”

“What?” I ask. “How could you not like it?”

“It’s  _ pointless _ . We’ve been surrounded by the idea of love since we were old enough to walk, and now we have to come up with a  _ new  _ spell for it? Aren’t there already a billion out there?” Her white-blonde hair is moving as she speaks; she’s using more hand gestures than I’ve ever seen her use--outside of a crisis, that is.

Penny nods. “Yeah, I get that. But I think what’s so great about the assignment is that we get to put our own spin on it. Agatha, you could come up with a magick that  _ prevents  _ love if you wanted to.”

“Or you could do something about familial love,” I tell her. “It doesn’t have to be romantic.”

She slumps back in her seat, a look of wonder in her eyes as she gazes at both Penelope and I. “Why didn’t  _ I  _ think of that?”

Penny smirks. “Too busy ranting?”

“Oh, shut it,” Agatha says, but there’s a little smile at the corner of her mouth. “So what are you two doing?”

“I’m going to try and contact Micah.”

“You’re such a sap when it comes to him,” Agatha teases.

Penny throws a crisp at her.

I open my mouth to tell Agatha my idea, but pause. We broke up earlier this year, but it’s still been a bit awkward. To be honest, I’m a little afraid of what Agatha might think. Will she think I want to use it on someone? I might not  _ like  _ her anymore, but she’s still one of my best friends; I value her opinion. (And I  _ don’t  _ want to use it on anyone; I would sooner pluck my own eyes out.)

Swallowing, I say, “I’m going to collect a few of those Cupid Flowers.”

“Oh, that’s cool!”

“Yeah?”  
“Yeah--I mean, you’d have to be really protective of it, but I think it’s a good idea. No one has seen one since the 1950’s I don’t think.”

“Really?”

She nods and pushes a piece of beef into her mashed potatoes. “Crazy, right?”

“Yeah.” My eyes catch on Baz, just walking in to the dining hall. “Crazy.”

Penny and Agatha notice my staring, and both turn to see what I’m looking at. Or rather who. 

“Why don’t you just go talk to him?” Penny asks.

I snort. “Are you kidding me? I think he would rip my head off in confusion if I tried to have a civil conversation with him.”

Agatha frowns at me. “I don’t think that’s something a person does in confusion.”

I wave my fork in the air. “Whatever! It doesn’t matter! He still wouldn’t go for it.”

“But you said you didn’t want to fight him anymore.”

“I know! I still don’t. It’s just… I think he still  _ does _ . We’re nearing the end of the year, and I think he’s plotting something. Something big.”

They both give me worried looks.

“Guys, it’s  _ eighth year _ . This is our last year of petty pranks and stupid fights. After this, it becomes real. I have to kill him.” 

“You don’t have to.”

“Well I’m not just going to let him kill me.”

They both sigh. Penny tells me again to talk to him.

The truth is, I’m a little scared to talk to him about this. Because then it would be real. It would mean that everything we’ve been doing for the past eight years has been for nothing. All the fighting, the plotting, would be in vain.

And for what? Because I think I might have a crush on him?

Penny knows. And Agatha. No one else though.

I don’t even know when it happened. When it started, I guess is what I mean. I know when I realized.

It was Valentine’s Day this year, and I woke up to a card on my desk. Which I thought was weird at first, because girls aren’t allowed into Mummers House. And then it was even weirder, because it had been from  _ Baz _ .

At first, when I saw his scrawled script, I was confused. And then I read the letter. And read it again. And again. And again.

And then it hit me that this was a  _ love letter _ . One that he had clearly spent time on. One that he had put thought into. 

He wasn’t in the room. (Which was strange because Baz always sleeps longer than me.) So I just… sat on my bed. And thought about it.

I realized that it couldn’t’ve been real. Baz could never have feelings for me. Hell would probably have to freeze over first.

But my  _ reaction  _ was what surprised me. I wasn’t upset with him at all for trying to trick me. I was just… kind of fluttery. And happy (before I realized it was a joke). And then I realized that I  _ wished  _ he’d meant it like that.

I’d never thought I was gay. To be honest, I’d never really thought much about what I am. But that… that made me think a whole lot.

I don’t think I am gay, though. Sure, I think boys are attractive as hell, but I think I fall somewhere else along the line. Because I know that I liked Agatha while we were dating. And I know that I do still think some girls are beautiful. 

But none are as beautiful as Baz.

And, Merlin, it fucking sucks that I’m falling for my enemy.

 

**BAZ**

I’ve fallen for my enemy, and this is how the world repays me. By giving us the same fucking idea.

As soon as he and Bunce left, I went to their table to see what book Snow was looking at. (He’s a heathen, and never returns them to the shelves.) And fuck if it’s not the exact book I was looking for.  _ Powerful Nature Magick and How to Use It  _ is exactly what I needed to figure out how to find a Cupid Flower.

My grandfather created it back in the 1800’s on a whim. He’d wanted to create a potion that imitated the Cupid Flower in  _ A Midsummer Night’s Dream _ (for whatever god forsaken reason). But he’d messed up, and now that potion is accessible to anyone who wants it.

To anyone.

To Simon fucking Snow. 

 

Walking into the dining hall, I immediately feel the heat of Snow’s glare on me. It’s like that most of the time. Like he can’t contain  _ just how much _ he hates me. He has to remind me constantly.  

I don’t want a reminder.

So I keep walking, head held high, not sparing him a single glance.

Some days he’s just too much to deal with. 

I don’t know  _ why  _ that is. I mean, I’ve been in love with Snow for three years now. Nothing’s changed. Today shouldn’t be any harder today than any other day.

_ Nothing has changed. _

I keep telling myself that, but it doesn’t feel true anymore. Snow’s been different the past few months. Like he’s dancing around something. But he’s such a klutz that he keeps almost slipping and falling into whatever it is. He only just pulls back every time. And every time, I silently beg him to just let go. Go off. I don’t care. Anything would be better than this silent mind game.

I know he doesn’t have the words for it. Whatever it is. He never has any fucking words.

The first time it happened, I’d entertained the idea that it was about me. That he was flustered  _ over  _ me. It was Valentine’s Day I remember. I’d written him that inane card. As a joke. But not really a joke, because everything in it was true. (I hoped he was thick enough that he wouldn’t realize that.)

Then he didn’t come down to breakfast. (Which, before then, I’d thought it impossible for Snow to miss a meal.) But, he was in first period, so I didn’t think much of it.

Except he didn’t look at me. Not once.

Which, honestly, isn’t all  _ that  _ strange. But, it was almost like he was making it a point not to look at me. Going out of his way to ignore my presence. Even when I sneered at him for his spellwork or made fun of his tongue-twisted words. 

When I got back to the room that night, Snow’s head turned so fast, I thought his neck might snap in two. He’d opened his mouth, but nothing came out. I told him to spit it out, but he just closed his mouth and went back to his homework, magic unbearably suffocating.

He never once mentioned the note.

Not once.

 

That’s happened a few more times. Snow’ll look at me like he wants to say something, but will back out at the last second. 

I don’t let myself dwell on what it could be that he’s hiding. I just want to make it out of this school year without Snow chopping my head off.

Which is going to be a hell of a lot harder with this fucking assignment. 

But I’m stubborn enough to keep going.


	3. The Grove

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who commented and gave kudos! Y'all are the best :,)

**SIMON**

I wake up Saturday to Baz’s snoring. (He says he doesn’t snore, but he does.) (It’s actually adorable.) (I hate it.)

Sunlight is streaming through the open window and weaving itself through his hair. Baz never sleeps facing the window (or me) if he can help it, so the most I can see of him in the morning is the back of his head. And thank Merlin for that; I don’t think I’d ever move again if I could stare openly at his face for more than a few seconds.

I get up and shower, trying  to shake off these feelings for the umpteenth time. I don’t know if I can, though. I’ve been trying for months now and no dice.

I need to focus, though. Finding the Cupid’s Flower is going to take a while, and I need to be ready in case I run into anything in the Wavering Wood.

Penny asked if I wanted her to come with, but I knew today was the day she was planning on calling Micah, so I didn’t want to busy her. I knew not to ask Agatha.

When I step out of the bathroom, Baz is already up, leaning against the desk. (Waiting for me?) (Merlin, I’m hopeless.)

He sees my outfit (an old Watford Lacrosse t-shirt from Agatha, trackie bottoms, and a beat up pair of trainers I swiped from the lost and found at the last home I was in), and cuts me a glare.

“Where are you going?” he asks, suspicion laced in his voice. That’s usually _my_ job. _I’m_ supposed to be the suspicious one.

I try to lift one eyebrow like him. I can tell it doesn’t work, because his glare turns into a tiny, amused smile. My heart catches even as I scowl at him. “None of your business, Baz.”

He grins at me, and I can _feel_ my stomach drop. Why does he have to do shit like that?

He’s a complete dick to me ninety-nine percent of the time. It’s just that the one fucking time he does anything nice or even _neutral,_ I freeze.

Jesus fuck, he’s not even being nice. He’s literally mocking me right now.

Maybe it’s the smile.

He puts his hands up, palms showing, and shrugs. “I was just trying to be a good roommate,” he says, flashing another toothy grin.

It’s definitely the smile.

I pause, taking him in as he is now: leaning against his desk, grinning at me, like it’s the most casual thing in the world.

And then I tell him to fuck off, slamming the door behind me.

 

**BAZ**

He’s definitely going to search for the flower today.

And I’m definitely going to follow.

 

**SIMON**

The woods are darker than I remember them being. It’s a soft kind of dark though, because daylight is still filtering in through the thick canopy, and everything looks sleepy.

It’s so _green_ in here. I had forgotten how green it was; I haven’t so much as taken the time to walk around in here since last year. (And, honestly, I’d rather forget about that.) (My then girlfriend and my now crush holding hands is not what I want to think about. Ever.)

A twig snaps and I look to see what it is, Sword of Mages already in hand. (I didn’t even have to do the incantation.) My head swings back and forth, I’m searching for anything out of place, anything that could be a threat.

But there’s nothing.

I put the sword away and resume walking. It’s not two minutes later when I hear another footfall. Someone _must_ be in these woods with me.

So I decide to do possibly the stupidest thing I’ve ever done.

I call out.

“Hullo?”

Nothing.

“I know you’re out there.”

And, miraculously, Basilton Pitch steps out from between the trees.

 

**BAZ**

I didn’t want to reveal myself yet.

It just sort of happened.

 _Sure,_ a voice in my head that sounds an awful lot like Fiona says, _because purposely giving away your position is something that “just happens.”_

What can I say? I’ve never been able to resist Snow before; it’s no wonder I lost. (All I do is lose.)

His hand is already at his hip, and he’s in his fighting stance. The sword hasn’t been drawn yet, though. Maybe I can still make it out of here in one piece.

“Are you following me?’ Snow asks. Like an idiot. A beautiful fucking idiot.

I sneer at him. “Why would I do that?” It’s the best I can manage considering that I _absolutely_ fucking followed him here.

“Oh, come off it,” he says, stepping out of his stance. “What’re you doing.” It’s not a question, more of a demand.

I start walking towards him, and roll my eyes when he steps back. I’m still a good twenty feet away, there’s no need for him to be so jumpy.

There’s no point in trying to hide anymore. “I figured out what you were researching for Magic Words. I’d had the same idea,” I say, walking past him. He follows. “Thought I could figure out where the flowers were if I just followed you.”

Snow snorts. “What made you think _I_ would know where the flowers are any better than _you_?” Then his face turns sour, like he hadn’t meant to say that, but it’d just slipped out.

I look curiously at him. We’re walking in step now, and I try to break the rhythm before he notices.

It’s strange, walking next to him, instead of ahead. He’s usually trailing behind, following me. (Though I suppose he really hasn’t done that since fifth year.) Still. It’s strange.

“I just figured the less work I had to put into this idiotic assignment, the better.”

Snow turns to me, eyes wide, and grabs my forearm. I tense immediately--I’m not sure he notices. “Baz,” he says. “Baz, don’t tell me you hate this assignment.”

I pause a bit before answering, lips pursed, just looking at him as he looks back. “I do.”

“No!” he shouts, throwing his arms up in the air dramatically.

_What the fuck is happening?_

“What is your problem, Snow?”

He looks at me incredulously, like he can’t believe how _I’m_ acting.

Honestly. What the _fuck_ is happening.

I glare at him. “ _What.”_

 

**SIMON**

I shouldn’t keep staring at him.

It’s starting to get weird.

We’ve _never_ talked like this. Not in all of our eight years of living together. It’s almost like banter. It feels like a double edged sword, though. Like if I said one wrong thing or took the wrong step it could all be too much and he’d attack. Or I’d break.

I have no idea what I’m thinking, going through with this.

“ _What,_ ” he says--like he’s close to breaking me in two.

“It’s just…. I always took you for such a romantic.”

His face goes blank for a second, and then a laugh bursts from him. It’s like he just can’t contain it. Like he’s been holding it in for years.

And I’m _melting_.

“Honestly, Snow,” he says through another laugh. “Sometimes the shit you say….” He trails off, though, eyes growing wide.

I look from his face and break into a smile. _This_ is what I came here for.

The flowers.

There’s an entire grove of them spread out before us. Violet and gold and everything I remember them being. I sniff, and my head is enveloped in their soft scent. It’s lavender and rose petals and daisy blossoms and everything spring is meant to be. Fresh air and breathing clean for the first time in months. Bright sunshine seeping through thin clouds. The occasional thunderstorm with hot, heavy rain drops. The scent of cedar trees and the promise of bergamot. It’s everything I’ve never known I wanted.

I think the flowers must not work the same way they do in the play. Because I can already feel their effect.

I want to tell Baz everything. About the crush I’ve had for months now. About how even just the _thought_ of him feeling the same way sends me spiraling. About how I think I’ve felt this way for a long time, just never realized it. I want to tell him that I don’t want to fight him. That I don’t want to be a part of this bloody war. How I don’t want him to be a part of it either.

I refrain, though.

But I’m not sure that’s the best thing for me.

Keeping this secret has been hell. Usually, I don’t ever sensor myself. It’s so much easier that way. I can hardly get words out as it is, and this is just forcing me to keep even more in.

I want to tell him.

So, to make it easier, I do possibly the stupidest thing I’ve ever done in my life.

I walk into the grove.

 

**BAZ**

I want tell him.

I want to tell him _everything._

Tell him how I’ve been in love with him since fifth year, and probably even before that. How I was too scared to do anything about it. How I was terrified that my father would find out. He wouldn’t’ve been angry because I’m gay--he already knows about that. No, he would have been _pissed_ that I’d been stupid enough to fall for the Chosen One.

I want to tell him that he really is the chosen one. That he’s not terrible at it, like I’ve always told him. Because he _cares._ He cares about the World of Mages more than _anyone._ More than me, my parents. More than the bloody fucking Mage.

I want to take back every hurtful word I’ve ever said to him. Every curse I’ve ever thrown at him. I want to apologize for the Chimera. For Phillipa’s voice. I want to tell him that I _really_ never wanted to hurt anyone like that. Not really even him.

I want to tell him how I hated him before I loved him. How he was everything I wasn’t. He was alive and bright and so _full_. And I never seemed to be. That if I hadn’t been told to hate him, I would’ve loved him sooner. That I wouldn’t have felt guilty for it then. That if we hadn’t been raised on opposite sides of this war, I would’ve wanted to be friends. I want to tell him that I don’t want to fight him. That I haven’t for a long time.

So I follow him.

 

**SIMON**

We reach the center, and I sit down, crossing my legs. Baz does the same.

He’s sitting just to the left of me, facing the path not taken, while I face the direction we’d just come from.

I don’t look at him, though I desperately want to.

“It’s beautiful here,” he says.

I nod.

He looks at me. “It’s really beautiful here.”

I swallow, and turn my head, meeting his eyes.

They’re so grey. But they aren’t flat. No, not at all. They’ve always been oceans of depth. Swirling and stormy and green and blue underneath. But right now, surrounded by flowers and forest, they look positively vibrant. Complementing the violet that’s all around us, and accented by the green in the grass.

I’m lost in them.

I’m lost in him.

“Baz,” I say, trying to form the words I want to tell him. The ones I’d had only moments before.

He looks at me.

“ _Baz_.”

He leans forward, and my heart lurches to my throat. I’m sure he hears it, and stops, centimetres from my lips.

I’m frozen here.

“ _Simon_ ,” he breathes, and that’s all it takes. I’m on him--one hand buried in his hair, the other gripping his waist.

I’m kissing him with everything I have. Like he’s the air. Like I need him to breathe. Like I’m drowning in him at the same time.

_And he’s kissing me back._

He’s leaning over me, one arm holding him up on my opposite hip, his other holding my face. Like I’m something precious. Like he could break me.

I’m already broken.

 

**BAZ**

Snow kisses me like it’s the last time he ever will.

He keeps pushing into me and then pulling away, leaving barely a breath of space, only to crash right back into me.

It’s everything and so much more than I ever dreamed it’d be.

He pulls aways again, and I meet his lips before he can catch mine. A soft noise escapes him; I think I caught him off guard.

But I don’t stop there. I push him, and he pushes back. Giving as much as I take. Matching me hit for hit. And it’s _marvelous_.

He leans back, and I follow him. It isn’t until I feel a flower brush my cheek that I realize we’re both lying in the grass. I’m half on top of him, my legs pushed to the side, my forearms braced on either side of his head. One of his hands is on the back of my neck, twirling the small baby curls underneath my hair. His other is swirling patterns on my stomach, making me shiver.

We break for a second of air, and he quietly asks, “Is this alright?”

“ _Yes_ ,” I breathe, already leaning back in.

This is more than alright.

This is everything.

_Simon Snow._

Aleister Crowley, I’m living a charmed life.


End file.
